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Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Just another boring summer’s day, and
like usual Billy and his friends were looking to start something. They often gathered in the alley behind his
house plotting, planning, and instigating mischief. Today was no different. Billy’s friends were
always a little more prone to finding trouble than Billy himself. He just wanted more than anything to fit in. Even though most of their ideas bordered on
plain stupidity Billy went along on the most part.

They talked about girls, sports, and
challenged each other to silly dares.
Occasionally they would head to the park to throw a ball around or to
the neighborhood pool to cool off. He
was only half listening when Tommy came up with the grand plan to steal
something…just to see if they could get away with it. They would make it a scavenger hunt of
sorts. You had to steal whatever the
group decided and get away with it, and the winner not only got the respect of his
peers, he also got to decide what was next on the list.

Stealing anything was completely stupid. He
knew it. As he listened to their latest hair brain
scheme he knew one thing for certain, they would always think of him as a
complete tool if he didn’t step up to the plate and show them that he had the
guts to do anything they suggested. They
already teased him relentlessly and called him the priest because he normally
upheld his ideals. His sense of right
and wrong always battled in his head and heart every single time they suggested
anything like this. Deep down most of
them respected him for being so good. On
the surface, they despised him for the same reason.

“I’ll do it. I’ll go first.” Billy
said with conviction. Shocked, they
turned to look at him, wondering if they had heard correctly. He stood up, and made his way to the street. That is when he saw Danielle leaving their
brownstone, purse in hand. Instantly,
Billy knew what he had to do. With a
deep breath, he ran after his sister, snatched her purse and took off like a
bat of hell with her hot on his heels screaming like a wounded banshee.

“Billy, you little shit! Come back
here! You are going to make me late for
work!” she yelled as she sped off in hot pursuit. He weaved as he ran trying desperately to
lose her. He would have to answer for this
later. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Danielle would give him holy hell for making
her late. Ducking into an alley, he rummaged through her
purse intent only on what he searched for.
Seeing it, he snatched it, discarded the purse knowing she would find it
there and ran hell bent for election to meet his friends.

Danielle saw him disappear around the
corner as she knelt to gather up her purse and its contents. What the hell was Billy thinking? The little shit. If he wanted money, he could have asked
her!! Except, all her money was there. Nothing really seemed to be missing. Well he wasn’t going to get away with
this. She was going to give him a good
telling off for this little stunt. She
was tired of his bullshit. She was
determined to find out just what the hell he was up too. It was obviously no good. Worry and anger engulfed her. She was justified, damn it and threw caution
to the wind as she pursued him with all thoughts of making it to work on time
forgotten for the moment. She found him surrounded by his friends, high
fiving at his accomplishment as he held up her favorite pen. A stupid pen! That was what this was about? Instantly she knew it was about way more than
a pen. With realization, she smiled slowly turning
away. Good for him. Through the clarity of retrospect, the obvious conclusion surfaced:
things don’t always turn out as planned.

This is my response to Speakeasy’s weekly prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 671) (1) with some kind of reference to the media prompt, a short film by Tanmay Shah, entitled Intent, AND (2) use the last sentence of: “Through the clarity of retrospect, the obvious conclusion surfaced: things don’t always turn out as planned.”

Sunday, March 23, 2014

When I was
little, I thrived in the radiance of my parents love and acceptance. It was all I knew.

I went to school searching for even more love. Instead of acceptance, I found ridicule: too
short, four eyes, awkward, and shy. I withdrew.
I struggled to accept love from anyone but my
parents.

Sad and broken, my soul mate
found me loving me as I was. Children
arrived. I lost myself along
the way. Like a butterfly bursting from
its chrysalis, I emerged. In the end, I discovered the greatest love of all was inside me all along.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

It
is almost time for the A-Z challenge that begins April 1 and I am starting to
prepare for it! Yes, me the girl who
usually flies through life by the seat of her pants writing as I go. My dear friend Vidya, a spokeswoman for #TeamDamyanti
organized this huge theme reveal! Obviously I am jumping on that band wagon because that is the way I
roll.

For the longest time, I scoffed at the
idea of a theme. For the last couple of
years I have participated in the A-Z challenge as a spirit of the moment with
no planning what so ever. It intensified
the excitement factor and when I completed my Z post at the end, I felt as if I
had climbed Mount Everest. I had
survived. I know it is doable, because I
have done it! Still I am a little
hesitant to fly totally blind this year…so this girl is at least formulating a
plan!

While I do not have a specific theme
to offer you, I do have a general plan of action so maybe that will
suffice. I plan a month peppered with
the fast fiction and haiku I have come to enjoy writing so much. I may throw in some of my artwork for good
measure. It is going to be one big,
exciting ride and you won’t want to miss it as I continue to hone my fiction
and haiku writing skills. You may also
see me participating in Speak Easy, Haiku Horizon, and Write Tribe prompts as
the month progresses, because quite honestly I am a bit addicted to those! It is kind of along the lines of if they
build it, they will come. If any of the
above has a challenge, I will do my best to participate and write it! I have slacked off a bit this month, wrestled
with the writer’s block beast and still manage to post some of my best
work. Anything is possible if you are
willing to try…and I am willing!

I always enter into one of these month
long marathon writing challenges with a little skepticism and a tinge of
fear. In the end, I usually come through
it victorious. Hopefully the odds will
be in my favor this year! I have had a
few challenges that resulted in a crash burn because fate stepped in and the
universe refused to cooperate. This time
around I am doing something I have never done before; I am writing posts ahead
of time so they are ready to go. Imagine
that, me, miss procrastination herself!
It is true! I hope you will join
me here at the Giggling Truckers Wife Writes during the month of April and
cheer me on. It is going to be one
exciting month! If you are feeling brave, there is still time tosign up and get on this crazy train with me. Join us!

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

No one really knew Ellie well. She was an artist…and quite eccentric. When anyone asked her brother Nick, he always
kind of smiled in a wistful way and explained that Ellie was simply Ellie. Whatever that meant! She had lived abroad for years studying, living, and breathing art in Florence, Paris, and finally London before coming home to the states
with a broken heart in the early ‘80’s. She
never really said much about the love affair that sent her home to lick her
wounds and Nick never asked. He figured
she would tell all when she was ready. Since
then she had withdrew into herself, selling her exquisite paintings and
managing a top gallery in New York.
Nick’s family knew her simply as Aunt Ellie. Those that worked with her thought she was a
genius, but odd. Nick’s children thought
her weird, but fun in a way. She felt
awkward around them, and even though they visited her on occasion and invited
her for holiday celebrations she rarely came.
Nick worried about her being so alone, but she assured him she was fine.

Several months ago, Ellie had notified Nick
that she had terminal cancer and the end was near. In complete shock when she died a week later,
Nick had taken her death particularly hard.
How could she not have told him?
How could she have not shared what little time she had left with him? Surely she had known for a while. Why had she chosen to suffer alone? He
should have gone to her. He should have
forced her to celebrate holidays with him and his family. He should have made more time for her. What he should have done was entirely beyond
the point now. She was gone. He
wasn’t surprised when he was notified by a law firm that he was in charge of
settling up her estate. What did shock
him was that his sister had been an extremely wealthy woman and according to
the attorney, her wealth and all her worldly possessions, barring a hefty sum
she wanted donated to the Princes Trust were now his to do with as he pleased.

He sat in her brownstone now sifting
through boxes of correspondence growing more amazed as he read. There were letters from the Prince of Wales
dating back to the early 1970’s, very affectionate letters. He found photos taken during that time period
of Ellie snuggling up with Prince Charles near the easels where their artwork
waited for them to commence with their painting. His sister was intimate with the Prince of
Wales? He felt the room spin, as he read
letters which indicated a brief affair and then the lifelong friendship which
resulted. Then he found Christmas cards
from various members of the Royal family, and even a personal note from Diana,
the Princess of Wales herself. Even more recent, a card from just last Christmas! She had never said a word...and he had never thought to ask!

He went through her personal effects
finally realizing why his sister never married, and why she had valued her
privacy so much. She had been in love
with the Prince of Wales. The Prince of
Wales!! While she adored him, she had
no desire for the lifestyle he led. She
never wanted any fame; she only wanted to be left alone to create her art…which
is what she did. The Prince, busy with
his naval career at the time had understood and had seen her for the gem she
was and had obviously been friends with her till her untimely death. In a back closet he found a box that had been
shipped straight from London shortly after she had returned to the states. Inside was a beautiful solid gold Faberge
Egg, an Easter gift from the Prince.

Nick had no idea the worth of such an
item but when he tried to take it to a dealer found that the Prince’s small
gift was now worth an estimated 20 million pounds. Not only did he discover secrets about his
sister that he never knew but also a treasure trove among her possessions,
trinkets from a long ago love affair and friendship with a prince. With her death he discovered a side of her he
never knew. Leave it to Ellie to have kept such an extraordinary secret.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

“Looks can be deceiving. You think it is a beautiful tree Poppet, but
that tree has a horrifying history fertilized in hatred, bigotry, and blood. As much as I try to forget, my heart forces
me to remember for my dear brother Jeb.”

Startled, my
curiosity was instantly piqued. Grandma almost
never mentioned the mysterious Jeb! He
was a subject that was usually brushed aside and taboo. From that moment on, I was all ears. Of course I already knew that this old house
had been in the family for generations. Her
gaze followed mine as she scrutinized the tree which stood majestically in the
clearing to the west. Its intricate
branches clawed at the orange afternoon sky.
A mixture of emotions crossed
her features. With a sigh her eyes
clouded over. She sank into her rocking
chair and with resolve began to tell her story.

“Back in the ‘60’s when I was a young girl;
the civil rights movement was at its height.
Here in the south, most people didn’t take kindly to colored folk. They were the help and beneath us. It was thought white folk were superior in
all things, and colored folk were expected to keep their place. They were to use their own restrooms, stay on
their own side of town, and weren’t expected to mingle…period. My brother Jeb had different ideas. Against better judgment, he became good
friends with several colored families on the other side of town. Honestly Jeb had such a kind heart. He was such a gentle soul. Although most loved him, most of our neighbors
didn’t take kindly to his leanings. He
was warned to stop, but he didn’t. Next
thing we all knew, he had fallen in love with one of them. Her name was Amanda. She was a beautiful girl. Still, I was shocked when I found out that he
intended to run away with her. He was
determined to have her. They were in
love he said.

One night, he snuck out to see her. The only problem was the local clan got wind
of it. They followed poor Jeb and caught
him and Amanda together before they could get away. While we all slept, they tied Jeb and Amanda
to that there tree and whipped them within the inch of their lives. When dawn broke, the town awoke to discover
them hung to death from the lowest branch, their blood tainting the bark a
crimson red. Every time I look at that
tree, I can still see their bodies and blood splashed across its bark. I remember vividly waking up that morning to
blood curdling screams outside my window.
I was horrified by the sight.
After that, there wasn’t anyone black or white who wasn’t afraid. Afraid because we all knew what the clan was
capable of and even more afraid of it happening again. The police came and cut down my dear brother and
his lover and their remains were claimed by their respective families to bury
privately. I bet you wonder if the Klan paid
for what they did. To my knowledge they
didn’t. The whole thing was covered up.
It wasn’t spoken of, and wasn’t even in the news. If you
ask me, someone should have chopped down that devil tree and burned it instead
of letting it remain and flourish after such evil had been carried out on its
branches.” She gripped the window sill
as she finished her story, before wiping her eyes.

Tears clouded my vision as I watched the
tree’s branches blow in the breeze, catching the afternoon sun. Looks certainly were deceiving. Upon hearing the story, the tree’s branches
seemed more sinister to me, their beauty of moments before fading in the
unforgiving light of the horrifying truth.

This is my response to Speakeasy’s weekly writing prompt,
which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 632 words) (1) using
“Looks can be deceiving." as the first sentence, AND (2) make some sort of
reference to the media prompt- a painting called Avond (Evening): The Red
Tree by Dutch artist, Piet Mondrian.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Amy was no stranger to hard work. She worked 10-12 hours daily at the grocery
store then rushed to college to study art.
Being an artist was her dream, not ringing up groceries. The job brought money that paid her way and
gave her hope. By the time she returned
home, her husband was at work and she was tired. As far as he was concerned, she was
completely worthless and couldn’t do anything right.

She didn’t dare infuriate him. Making
him mad always spelt trouble for her. She
tried to stay up and wait for him, but always seemed to succumb to sleep before
his arrival. Her dreams haunted
her. She was always running and terrified,
with the beast breathing down her neck.
She could feel his hatred. Even
her dreams mirrored the sorry path her life had taken recently. She was jarred awake by unbelievable pain in
her temple. She saw stars and tasted
blood in her mouth. She slowly opened
her eyes to see him glaring at her, twirling a revolver on his thumb.

“Get out of bed and get me a beer you
lazy ugly bitch, NOW!” He grabbed her by
the hair and threw her to the floor. A
sob escaped as she reached for the bed to pull herself up. She felt dizzy and tasted blood. Disgusted,
he kicked her in the stomach as he left the room. Her thoughts jumbled as she registered the
gun. Where had he gotten a gun? He would kill her for sure now. She
had to get away before it was too late! She wiped her tears and rushed to do his
bidding.

He was sitting in the living
room, surfing through the television channels like he always did. How
she hated him. Oh God, how her head
hurt! She felt like throwing up. Her stomach hurt worse than the last time he
had kicked her there, if that were possible.
One day he would go too far and
kill her. She knew this as well as she
knew her own name. She could run, but
she couldn’t hide. He made her pay
daily for being sleepy, for not doing something fast enough, and for simply
breathing. Reflecting, she felt she had paid enough.

She poured the beer into a frosted glass,
just the way he liked it. Once she had
made the mistake of taking him the bottle.
She had gotten a broken arm for that silly mistake. She wasn’t about to provoke him tonight. She had to hurry or he would come looking for
her. That simply wouldn’t do. Casting a sidelong glance over her shoulder,
she added a handful of pills from the bottle in her pocket and watched them
dissolve as she quickly stirred the concoction.
Her mind went over her plan of a different identity, a disguise, and
flight to safety to the other side of the globe. He would never find “Amy” again. She had worked out the details over the past
month. After months of overtime,
scrimping, saving, and planning she was finally ready. She
hurried the beer to him as he began to complain about how slow and stupid she
was.

“How in the hell is it possible
that you could ruin beer? This stuff
tastes like shit.” He ranted and raved.
She took a seat as far away as she could. It was
then he began to sweat. He turned green,
then a ghastly shade of white. “What did
you do bitch?” he demanded. He fell from
the chair in convulsions as she watched horrified until his body finally
stilled. With one last look, she grabbed
her car keys. “I am taking my life
back. Burn in hell asshole!” she called
as she frantically made her escape. The
trunk of the car had been packed for the perfect moment for the last week. Inside held all her hopes and dreams. Within
a day the transformation would be complete.
She would change her clothes, her hair, and her face. Amy, the cashier would cease to exist and in
her place Angela, the artist would be born. It would be so easy and the only chance of
staying alive she would ever get.

This is my response toSpeakeasy’s weekly prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 words or less (mine is 702 words) and (1) use the sentence“It would be so easy”anywhere in the piece; and (2) make some kind of reference to the media prompt, which happens to be a video for Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees.